Every golden verse that could have
Sang your praise
Didn’t.
Every eloquent prose that would have
Described your glories
Didn’t.
Every stroke of the brush that should have
Painted your form
Didn’t
Now life has come to an end, and it was all for nought.
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 4:17 AM UTC
Every golden verse that could have
Sang your praise
Didn’t.
Every eloquent prose that would have
Described your glories
Didn’t.
Every stroke of the brush that should have
Painted your form
Didn’t
Now life has come to an end, and it was all for nought.